


Colors

by carminnat



Category: Uncharted (Video Games), Uncharted 4 - Fandom
Genre: Angst and Feels, Bad Flashback Management, Canon Temporary Character Death, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Slow Burn, Sorry Not Sorry, Teen Romance, Teen Sam, this is really long
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-29
Updated: 2017-04-08
Packaged: 2018-07-27 13:18:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7619587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carminnat/pseuds/carminnat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If there had been any other event in your life that would come up to par with the reappearance of your so-called “teenage sweetheart,” you would be incredibly impressed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

If there had been any other event in your life that would come up to par with the reappearance of your so-called “teenage sweetheart,” you would be incredibly impressed.

Yet here you are, shamelessly lifted into his strong arms as he stumbles through the door of your hotel room and as you smile into his kiss. He pulls away briefly to kick the door shut, keeping a firm grip on you before he promptly rushes over to pin you down on the bed.

He dips his head down to kiss you again. You relish the familiarity of his lips mingled with the new taste of cigarette and the wine from tonight‘s museum gala. You suck in a breath when his lips move to the underside of your jaw and his hands move to peel the straps of your dress down your shoulders. “So,” you begin, “where’d you go?”

“Where’d I go…?” His words are muttered as his lips skim pass your throat.

“Mhmm.” Your hand goes the side of his face, grazing the stubble on his cheek, urging him to meet your gaze. He hovers above you, mildly curious but still driven by lust as his eyes slips over your kiss-swollen lips and your stare. You take a brief moment to analyze the changes in his appearance. He has definitely matured, and his hair is a lot longer than it had been before. You bite down on your lip and remember your question. “You said that you and Nate had a few stops ‘here and there’ after leaving Boston… Where’d you go?”

As he thinks, your fingers go to the collar of his shirt, undoing the buttons one by one. “New York first,” he says, peeling his shirt off, and you flush at how much this portion of his body has changed from that lean boy you’d known. “Tallahassee.” His lips go back to where they were before on your neck. You hum contently, arching upward to help him get the dress off your body. “Cartagena,” he continues, tossing your dress to the side, and then meeting your lips in another kiss.

You wrap an arm around his broad shoulders and tangle your free hand in his hair. “Cartagena, wow.” Kiss.

“‘Course, I spent most of our time there in jail.” Kiss.

You laugh against his lips. “And Nate?”

He pauses then, pulling back from your kiss and letting out a light chuckle, his fingertips pressing into your hips. “You know, I’d rather not talk about my little brother while we’re half-naked in bed.”

You laugh, leaning back in to eagerly meet his lips once more. “Fair point.”

And from there on, you let yourself become enveloped by Sam in a way both similar and different to how you had all those years ago. You are almost stunned at how easy it is for you to respond to his warm touch, given how much time had passed between the two of you. It is unexpected. It’s a shocker that could give you hope for the future, but you choose not to dwell on it now. Instead, you drown yourself in him, illuminated in the dim yellow-orange lighting provided by the lamp standing in the corner of the room.

* * *

It was late in November. Winter was tinging the air, but only the barest hints of it were on frosted window glasses and exhaled breaths steaming in the air. It was the city’s annual Christmas parade, and so the streets were decked out in red and green.

You gawked at the immense festiveness of the folks crowding around you, but that was only perhaps due to the fact that you had never spent the holidays the way they did. And it was not as if you were unhappy. The music blaring through the speakers, the excitement upon the sight of Santa Claus standing at the head of the float, waving — what could be a better diversion?

To be fair, you never always had sticky fingers. Although you did have a simple mindset ( _if it’s shiny, it’s worth it_ ), you also had impressive plans for yourself set aside until after your departure from St. Lucy’s Home for Girls. A trip to Europe; a vacation in Southeast Asia; to simply explore the world. With that being said, you came to terms with the cost of it all. So you resorted to what you had become quite good at in a mere year: grifting, pickpocketing, thieving. The whole deal.

Today, you were surrounded by targets. And though you thoroughly enjoyed the “pity party play,” tons of attentions were averted. You found it easier to go around, shuffling away through wallets, slipping watches and bracelets off unknowing people‘s wrists, picking at open purses.

You were almost too caught up in it all when a tall, dark-haired boy clad in a blue denim jacket accidentally bumped into your front. As soon as he’d brushed past you, you took immediate notice of the missing weight in your own coat pockets. But by the time you’d turned after him, he had already disappeared into the sea of people.

“Asshole,” you hissed under your breath.

It was an hour or so later when the crowd had dispersed and the clean up committee overtook the streets. You were able to decipher the shape of the same boy — the said _asshole_ — leaning against a nearby building. He seemed to be waiting up for you, strangely enough.

You approached him with a strict mask on and a hand outstretched. The boy kept his head bowed, his messy hair falling in his face, fiddling with a watch you had stolen from a short bald man earlier, obviously feigning unawareness at your presence in front of him. So you cleared your throat.

“You know, it ain’t right to take what isn’t yours.” His speech was accented with the city. He finally looked up and flashed you a shit-eating amused grin, tossing you the watch back.

You caught it in your hands. “Speak for yourself,” you retorted, analyzing the watch for any possible hint of tweaking. It turned out to be okay. You slipped it back into the pocket of your oversized coat and looked back up at the boy. “All right — the rest of it, now. Before I call the cops.”

The boy gave you a look of disbelief. “Like hell you would!” He albeit moved to rummage in his pockets and sleeves for the remainder of your — er, _belongings_ , per se. You pocketed everything just before starting forward and passed him. He, again, strangely, followed at your side.

“Okay, in my defence, I was gonna give it all back,” he said.

You rolled your eyes. “Sure.”

“No, really,” he pressed on. “Look, it’s not everyday a pretty girl with better technique than you catches your eye.”

You rose a brow, the corner of your lips twitching upward. Now you were amused. “That kind of flattery get you anywhere far before?”

“No,” he answered. “But I’d like to see where this goes.”

You chuckled softly and met his eyes, taking note that they were the adaptable colour of hazel. “I’m Y/N, by the way.”

The grin on his mouth was gone and replaced with an earnest, kind smile. “I’m Sam.”

So _Sam_ stayed glued to your side the remainder of the day, and you were truthfully not bothered by it at all. He proved to be good company. He certainly had a charm to him that might’ve given him the advantage in some situations, but still, his more puzzling qualities you found did not go unrecognized. Neither did yours, sure enough.

You learned that he would be eighteen in about a month; two years older than you were. He liked history, as made very obvious when the two of you took a detour to the museum and he listed a series of quick facts that left you admittedly impressed. When you found yourselves back uptown at sundown, he offered to walk you home. You accepted, and he began to tell you about his younger brother, and that they were separated after Sam’s delinquency had apparently pushed far past the limit of the boys’ home. He didn’t emote to you at all, but you could still see how much care he had toward his complicated situation — more specifically toward his brother.

You gaped at him nonetheless. “So _you’re_ the dropout from St. Francis’s!” you pointed out as you neared St. Lucy’s.

Sam let out a short breath; not quite a laugh. “Glad I’ve got a reputation,” he replied. You turned a sharp left, leading him up the fire escape of an apartment building. “Say, uh, where’d you say you lived again?”

You turned over your shoulder to look down at him, offering him a small, solemn smile as you gripped the metal railings tighter. “I think you’ve got a pretty good idea where.”

He pursed his lips together but said nothing else. Yeah, he definitely knew.

You stopped when you reached the middle of the stairs, jumping over the railing to climb up the neighbouring building’s pipes and protruded bricks. Up on the rooftop, it gave you a direct path into the open window of your bedroom.

“Well, this is my my stop,” you said, turning to face Sam.

He looked from the orphanage to you, the grin from earlier ghosting across his mouth. “So _you’re_ the two-bit thief from St. Lucy’s,” he said. You chuckled in response, then watched as he craned his neck, seemingly trying to peer into your bedroom. “You got you a room to yourself?”

“Oh. Yeah,” you confirmed, sighing. “Let’s just say, I’m treading on thin ice myself. I get caught again, and that’s my last straw.” The last time it had happened, the nuns had mistakenly spared you a roommate. “It’s preferable,” Sister Mary had said, “that your delinquency would not influence the other girls. It’s for your own good.”

Sam nodded understandingly. A moment of silence followed, and the two of you stood, unsure of what else to say. But he soon nudged you, smiling once more as he started backwards toward the edge of the roof where you‘d both climbed. “Til’ next time, then, Y/N?” he asked.

You smiled back and nodded. “See you around, Sam.”

* * *

You stir awake the next morning to the sunlight shining through the sheer balcony curtains. A pair of lips press kisses over the side of your neck and your shoulder, breath warm against your bare, flushing skin. You smile, tugging at Sam’s arms wound around your waist, allowing you to meet his sleepy stare.

“Hi,” you greet him tiredly, arching up in effort to meet him in a proper kiss.

“Hey, there,” he murmurs, just brushing his lips over yours. You let out a whine in response, attempting to pull him down, but his arms are locked around you too tightly, restraining your movement. He leans down only to continue where he left off; your jawline, neck, collar, then your shoulder.

You frown. “Kiss me, you asshole,” you instruct.

He chuckles. “I will. Don’t worry.”

Sighing defeatedly, you let him work you over with kisses, his fingers occasionally trailing elsewhere across and down your body, eliciting sighs and moans from you. Once he has evidently had his fill, he loosens his grip on you. You immediately turn to face him, tangling your fingers in his hair.

You realize now how peculiar your current dilemma is. Having not seen him in ten years, it’s a wonder how the two of you ended up here in a hotel room in France. The happiness overflowing in your chest just at the ability to just admire him like this is almost cringeworthy. He is smiling down at you, his thumbs tracing gentle circles on your hip and thigh. His eyes appear a warm shade of green in the sunlight and his hair is somehow only slightly mussed from the events of the previous night.

Humming, you tug him downward and he meets you midway. “How long are you in town for again?” you ask in between kisses.

“Couple more weeks,” he answers. “You?”

You pause. How long are you in town for? You’d originally come for the museum gala, where you were supposed to meet up with some wealthy buyer, but you hadn’t gone. You had gotten sidetracked when you ran into Sam and Nate. Pulling back from Sam’s lips, your eyes widened at the sudden memory. “Shit.”

His brows knit together. “Shit…?”

You roll out of his grip and out of the bed, hurriedly going to your luggage for a new set of clothing to wear. “Guess I’m in town for a few more weeks, too,” you say, mostly to yourself.

“Hold on, hold on.” Sam sits himself up on the bed, gesturing for you to slow down. “Y/N, what’s goin’ on here?”

“Ah, I’m kind of in big trouble,” you say, pulling on your clothes. “Kind of missed an important meeting last night, and from what I hear, the guy _does not_ like to be kept waiting.”

“Yeah? Who is this guy?”

“That rich kid with his parents’ inheritance? Raphael—Rafe Adler. He goes around digging for treasure, same as you and Nate.” You’re done with your clothes and move to grab the telephone on the nightstand when you find Sam is getting dressed as well. “You got somewhere to be, too?”

“Uh-huh,” he answers simply. “I’m coming with you to meet this guy.”

Your hand drops to the side. “What?”

He looks up at you and shrugs, tugging on his shoes and moving to pick up his shirt. “I figure if this guy is how you say he is, then you shouldn’t be alone.” You stand stock-still, unsure of whether or not you should protest. Finally, he stands, placing his hands on your arms. “It’ll be just like the good old days, yeah? You and me.”

You have a feeling he would keep pushing, so you let out a breath and nod. “Okay.”

He smiles, raising a hand to the nape of your neck and pressing a kiss to your forehead.

* * *

The “next time” that Sam had promised you on the day of your first meeting was followed by countless other “next times.” You found yourself anticipating each one, too, seeing how close the two of you had gotten over the course of several months. He became your best friend. Your confidant.

Of course, his days were pretty limited, given the time he had to work in order to provide for his brother. You respected that. You resorted to offering some of the money you had, but he rejected every single one. Hell, you‘d even tried pulling him close to you in a hug just to slip a couple bucks into his pocket, but he knew every trick in the book. You couldn’t say you had given up your attempts, however. There had to be some way you could help.

Sam had taken to account how much you wanted to, so that made for a good sign. You hoped that tonight would be the night he’d accept your offer, but as soon as you met him on the rooftop outside your window, he was already prodding you to follow him down. He was clearly adamant about avoiding the subject. But as soon as your feet hit the pavement below, you knew that the purpose of tonight’s meet did not pertain to the subject, anyway.

There waiting at the corner of the building was a boy. A couple inches shorter than you were, his shaggy hair around the same hue as Sam’s. You looked to Sam, mouth open agape and brows raised, wordlessly signalling him the question. He only smiled before he turned to the boy and gestured him over to you. “Nathan, come here. There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

Nathan approached you, blue eyes steady on yours. “Hi,” he said. “You’re Y/N, right? Sam told me all about you.”

Sam chuckled and was about to intercept, but you spoke first. “Funny, ‘cause he tells me all about you, Nathan.” The corner of your lips twitched upward as you offered him a hand.

“Call me Nate,” he told you, accepting your hand and smiling up at you.

“Pleasure to finally meet you, Nate.”

The three of you spent the early hours of night around town, chatting in the park, taking a stop for some late night ice cream. Nate turned out to be quite the mirrored image of his older brother; same humour, same wit, same knack for history. When the time came for him to return back to the orphanage, you were sure to pull him into an embrace before he climbed his way back into St. Francis’s.

Once Sam and you were assured Nate’s safe arrival by the sight of him crawling through his window, you turned back to Sam. Already was he looking at you knowingly. “I saw that.”

You knitted your brows together and moved pass him in the direction that you came. Now was the time you head on back to St. Lucy‘s. “Saw what?” you asked.

“You, slipping that wad of cash into his pocket,” Sam answered, trailing behind you.

You let out a light breath. “All right,“ you replied. “And?”

“ _And?”_ Sam scoffed lightly. “And nothing, I guess…”

You grinned victoriously. He truly had no way of getting around to you through an argument, anyway. He caught up to your pace a second later, wrapping his arm around your shoulders and ultimately slowing you down.

“Thanks, by the way,” he said. “We, uh, ‘appreciate your generous donation.’”

You raised a brow and looked up at him, playfully unimpressed. “You know that I can’t see either of you as a charity case.”

“Says the girl with all the money.”

“Sam.”

He laughed. “What? I’m joking!”

When you’d arrived back in your room, Sam actually stayed back with you for another hour or two, toying with your belongings, pointing out every flaw in your stack of historical fiction books, mockingly reciting your Shakespeare collection. It was another fun addition to your evening. But eventually, Sam took it as his signal to leave when you yawned out a response to one of his jokes.

“Get some sleep, Y/N,” he said, turning to your window and moving to unlatch it. However, his movements are halted by a sudden clap of thunder. How the hell did neither of you notice it was already raining? “Shit…”

You tiredly chuckled and made your way up to the top bunk. “Looks like somebody’s gotta crash.”

Sam sighed, sliding his backpack off his shoulders and back onto the floor. “You don’t mind, do ya?”

“‘Course not,” you told him, leaning backward on your pillow. “Make yourself comfortable.” You listened as he sprawled himself on the bottom bunk. “Oh, and by the way, Sister Jemma wakes us up at around seven-thirty, so you either gotta hide or haul ass and get the hell out of here. Got it?”

“Got it. Thanks for the heads up.”

You took this as “Goodnight.”

Silence followed the both of you, so within the first ten minutes you assumed he had fallen asleep. Unfortunately, you found yourself unable to, the storm outside becoming quite erratic. Loud. A goddamn piss-off. After moments of turning over in your position, you soon gave up and peered over your bed to Sam on the bottom bunk. He was very much asleep, an arm draped across his eyes and his other hand resting on his middle.

You hesitated for a moment, but nonetheless called for him quietly. “Sam,” you whispered, but it was drowned out by another thunderclap. He didn’t even stir. _“Sam.”_ Nothing, again.

You huffed frustratedly and climbed down from your bunk, crouching beside him. You poked your finger to his side. “Sam,” you repeated once more, and this time, he did stir awake.

Peeling his arm from his face and staring up at you with pure confusion and sleepiness, he asked, “Wha—Y/N? What’s the matter?”

You bit down on your lip sheepishly. “Can’t sleep.”

He furrowed his brows, propping himself up on his elbow. “You afraid of thunder or something?”

“No!” you said. “No, it’s just… I’m a light sleeper.”

He still seemed a little lost. “So, what do you want me to do?”

“Stay awake with me til’ the storm’s gone?” you suggested, placing your elbows on the edge of the bed and peering innocently up at him.

He obliged without much reluctance. You smiled and gestured for him to scoot so you could lay next to him. He chuckled a bit at your restless antics. Then the two of you lay unspeaking for a few minutes, listening to the pitter-patter of rain on your window pane, awaiting the next clap of thunder and flash of lighting. They arrived simultaneously, prompting a small jump from you.

Sam laughed again.

“Jesus. How the hell do you manage to sleep through this?” you questioned, pressing your palms to your ears.

“First of all…” He reached down and peeled your hands from you ears. “I try not think about it. And second, I keep myself distracted.”

“With what?”

“I dunno. Thoughts, mostly.”

You half-scoffed, half-laughed. “Yeah, the only thing I can think of right now is when the hell is this storm gonna shut the hell up.”

The sentence trailed off on your tongue when you returned your stare up to him, finally taking notice of the closeness between you two. The barest of light from outside lit his face blue and his tired eyes grey. He looked sort of pretty, actually.

You felt heat in your cheeks at the thought, grateful for the darkness. You quietly scolded yourself for even thinking that way. Sam was your friend. Your best friend. Had you thought about him that way before? Yes, a few times. Did you consider it a crush, however? No, because it wasn’t a crush. In fact, you weren’t so sure what it was.

But here you were, feeling so incredibly compelled in a way you should have at least considered before you climbed into bed next to him. He was looking at you strangely, too. Or was that because you had interrupted his sleep? For whatever reason, he raised his hand to your cheek, his fingers gently brushing your skin, then down your hair.

“Sam…” He was very close now, his nose brushing yours, the distance between your lips minimizing by the second. You kept your eyes open, wary as your hand crept up gripped at the collar of his shirt, daring to wound through his hair.

He kissed you then. Gently, sweetly, briefly. He pulled away to apologize only for you to tug him back down to meet your lips again.

Needless to say, you were definitely distracted from the storm that night.

* * *

“You’re leaving, aren’t you?”

Your question lingers in the air unanswered. But his arms tighten around you, exhaling a soft breath into the side of your neck. Shivers are sent down your spine, but that is more for fear of his unsaid answer.

In the past few weeks, Rafe Adler had quickly become far more than the “wealthy buyer” you’d initially assumed he would be. Your first meeting with him wasn’t exactly disastrous, but you were not at all humbled. Neither was Sam, for that matter. But at the mention of lengthy costs, at the mention of what you presumed was another lost treasure, it wasn’t hard for you to catch glimpses of troubling prospects.

Nate’s introduction to Rafe hadn’t turned out the way Sam’s did, however. You’d locked stare with the younger Drake then; wary, distrusting. He evidently saw this new guy the way you did. Of course, none of that seemed to change Sam’s mind. From then on, the three of them began to meet up daily.

With you, well — you continue remain on the sidelines until late at night, when Sam would reappear at your hotel doorway to get his fill of you.

You know how goddamn stupid you are for digging yourself deeper into the hole of this damned situation. But if you had found the will to pack your bags, you certainly would have done it by now. The only plausible reason is one that even you can’t comprehend. It had been too long, and to have that void (that he‘d initially emptied) filled just by lying here next to him… You’ll take what you can get.

“Sam,” you call to him.

“Hmm?”

“You’re leaving,” you repeat, “aren‘t you?”

His lashes brush against your skin as he shuts his eyes, sighing softly. “In a few days.”

You elect to ignore the sunken feeling in your chest, but your breath still catches in your throat. “Where are you going?” you add anyway.

“Panama,” he answers.

“Oh.”

You almost want to ask why, but you know why. There would be no other cause. A second later, another question erupts in mind, and you can tell by when he sucks in a breath that he knows exactly what that question is. Ironically, you know what his answer to that question would be. It isn’t going to stop you from asking, however. “Can I tag along?”

His grip loosens on you as he sits up. “Y/N…"

“What?“ You peer up at him defensively. “You, of anyone, should know that I can handle myself pretty well in a heist—”

He runs a hand over his face, dragging it over his chin. “Except it’s not just any other ‘heist,’ all right? That’s what you don’t get.”

Your fingers curl around the sheet covers as you pull them up to your chest. You sit up with him, sure to keep going. “What is it, then, huh?”

He falters. The realization at his hesitance hits you like a ton of bricks. Like the toxicity of whatever the hell is going on between the two of you has finally reached its tipping point: he doesn’t trust you enough to tell you. “Look, the bottom line is,” he speaks up eventually, “it’s a risky job.”

You manage out a single, humourless chuckle. “Okay.”

He stares at you, unsure of your word. Just as he should be. He knows what damage he‘s done to you. He knows his faults stretch all the way back to when you were two kids with a broad view of the future and up to now. And it’s always been his biggest flaw; his inability to straight-up tell you what he feels. It’s almost shocking to you how much this trait hasn’t changed in the slightest.

What is he even feeling now? Remorse? Guilt? You shake your head, waving your hand dismissively before he even dares to crack his mouth back open. “Just forget I said anything,” you utter, laying back on your side and away from him.

So he says nothing in response. In the silence that follows, you feel the bed dip as he moves on the other side and shut your eyes when the smell of cigarette smoke fills your senses. A moment later, you sense him leaning over you. He places a warm hand on your hip and rolls you onto your back to look at him. “I’m sorry,” he tells you. But you’re not sure what exactly for. You can‘t even wholeheartedly buy the fact that it‘s earnest, either.

You shake your head again. “I’m just worried about you,” you tell him, _your_ tone earnest. “This business that we’re in… They’re all ‘risky jobs.’”

He sits back again and takes a drag of his cigarette, withdrawing his hands from you and looking down at his lap.

“I’m serious, Sam.”

“I hear ya,” he says in a low voice.

There comes another silence, but this one you find yourself actually disliking. So you scoot on closer, reaching upward to grip at his chin and gently force him to look at you. “Be careful,” you say. “I think you’d want to reach your twenty-eighth birthday.”

A grin pulls at the corner of his lips. “Why? Getting me something pretty?” he questions, taking another drag of his cigarette.

You grin back up at him. “Promise,” you tell him. “But only as long as you come back in one piece.”

He looks at you as if you’re nuts when you retreat your hand from his jaw and raise your pinky up. Nonetheless, he actually seems content. Instead, he takes your hand in his and leans forward, pressing a kiss to your lips. He pulls away with a smile much softer than the last.

“Consider it a deal, then.”

Your troubles do not stray far later that night. Yet you feel at least a little fulfilled, having been assured that he‘d return. Not exactly to you, but seeing the past events as they‘ve occurred, you surely hope there would be a next time. “Like the good old days,” he’d told you not too long ago.

You peer at the clock hanging on the adjacent wall. It two in the morning. Sam is fast asleep and holding you close to his chest. You raise your chin to look at him, suddenly overwhelmed by it all. Your unnerved attraction to all his ripped edges. They’re what make you feel this way. You can’t bear it any longer. He won’t hear you, anyway, but your words are still whispered, steady.

“I love you.”

* * *

Everything that had happened following the night of your first kiss with Sam became what you assumed would be the downturn of your built-up friendship. The kisses were frequent along with the addition of abrupt embraces from him that you always found yourself sinking into. It had given you hope that, maybe, along the line, he considered you more than his friend or partner in crime.

It had all turned into but a huge slap in the face the second he introduced you a pretty, petite, blonde girl named Crystal. That was when you learned that you were but a toy. You were played for a fool by someone you thought would never hurt you that way.

But yet you continued forward. You’d pushed him to a fair distance, careful to the point where he actually seemed perplexed by it. He probably knew. He most likely knew. You thought he’d either be respectful of it or come to terms with the fact that you couldn’t look at him the same way anymore. But instead, he was caught up in the act of pretending that nothing ever happened between you two — even if all of it really didn’t matter to him.

And now here you were, perched on the roof near the window to Nate’s bedroom, awaiting Sam’s arrival.

He’d gotten a new job that paid considerably well. The only catch was that he would have to be out of town for some time, and while you did assure him that you’d watch over Nate in that time, there was still the trouble of actually telling Nate of the whole situation. So Sam had scoured for a way to make it up to him, and in both cases—the bike and the buyer of his mother’s belongings—you helped.

Hell, you busied yourself to the point where you couldn’t even dwell on how much you’d miss him in his upcoming absence from your life.

At the solemn thought, a pair of hands grabbed at your waist, startling you. “Y/N!” Sam exclaimed from behind you.

You yelped, swatting at him, protesting over his contagious laughter. “You piece of shit!” you screamed, attempting to fend down your own giggles but to no avail.

It had taken a moment for the two of you to have fully calmed from your sudden high. Your only business here tonight was really waiting for the light to flick on in Nate’s room, signalling that he was there and awake for Sam’s visit. As time passed, you could see in his demeanour the worry he’d pent up. The way he bumped his fists together, letting out awkward puffs of breath.

“Hey,” you called to him eventually, touching a hand to his arm. He looked down at you without any effort to mask his anxiousness. “It’s gonna be okay.”

But at this, he immediately turned away from you.

“Really, Sam,” you pressed on. “He’s your little brother. He probably never tells you, but he _does_ love you. He’ll understand.”

Sam remained quiet for another minute or two, confirming your suspicion that he was indeed taking your words of comfort in. “So, you checked the lady’s house, right? No one‘s home?“ he questioned eventually, and you truly didn’t expect anything more than that.

You pursed your lips defeatedly and shook your head no. At that, you caught glimpse of the light flickering on through the window. Nate was there. You nudged Sam and beckoned for him to go.

He told over his shoulder as he made his way to the other end of the roof. “I’ll see you later, all right, Y/N?”

You gave him a thumbs up in response just before you turned and made your way back to the orphanage.

Surprisingly, you found yourself crashing immediately, overcome with the fatigue the rollercoaster of emotion you’d been put through. You awoke in the morning to a cool breeze from the window that was open ajar. You were sure you’d closed it the previous night, however.

When you went to shut it closed, your eyes fell to your worn copy of _Romeo & Juliet_ sitting by the sill. It was opened to the blank back page, which was scrawled over in red pen ink. In Sam’s handwriting.

_A lot of stuff went down tonight. But I’ll come back for you, and I’ll explain everything then, okay?_

_-Sam_ _~~Morgan~~ _ _Drake_

It was a very short note, but it was enough to leave you incredibly puzzled for days on end. Then you heard about the news circulating the entire city: two suspects, both male, wanted for breaking and entering that old lady’s home, startling her to the point of heart attack. A young boy from St. Francis’s had gone missing. And then there was the way Sam had signed his note to you. His surname was crossed out, replaced with Drake.

You spent quite some time knitting everything together. He‘d told you of Sir Francis Drake before. Countless times. And while you were fascinated by the stories, you had no idea Sam would take it this far. But it was Sam. He‘d always been sort of hard to predict.

So you couldn’t hold him to his word that he would “come back for you.” You waited, yes, but that was not who you were. If you were going to see him again, then you would be the one to find him.

* * *

You depart from France days after Sam, Nate, and Rafe do. Your next venture is unknown. It’s always been that way.

Just as expected, you don‘t hear a thing from either of the Drake brothers. You certainly don’t expect any news from Rafe. So you do what you’ve always done; bury yourself in your work until the worry of it all could at least dissipate.

It’s almost a month later when you are brought back up to your feet by a series of knocks on your hotel door. There is indeed a bit of sheer excitement that bubbles up within you as you move to open it, but you are not too keen. You open it warily, shocked at the sight of the younger Drake brother standing before you.

“Nate,” you say. He doesn’t respond immediately. You can‘t help but analyze the stiffness in his shoulders, the tenseness of his jaw, and more notably, the pain in his eyes.

It dawns on you. The beat of your heart quickens, and there’s a lump forming in your throat. You are too frightened to even ask, but still only manage to muster out a small, almost incoherent “Sam…?“

At the mention of his brother‘s name, Nate swallows, and you’re able to catch the tears in his eyes. He shakes his head. He doesn’t have to say a word, because you know. Damn it, you know, and it hurts more than anything else you have endured.

You fall to your knees as soon as your own tears fall, a choked sob escaping your lips. You feel a pair of arms go around you. Nate’s arms. You can make out his “I’m sorry. I-I’m sorry. Jesus, I’m so damn sorry, Y/N…” through his constrained voice, as if he is trying to hold back. You don’t. You can’t.

No missing piece, no push of instinct can help you find him now. And you are forever left with the colourful memories of the times you've shared with Sam Drake.


	2. Chapter 2

Rafe’s livid outbursts can be heard from down the hall of his lavish study and maybe even the entire building. Sam should be used to it by now; it _has_ been two years in the making. He drags a hand over his chin and lets out an exhale of breath, stepping into the quaint library at the other end of the hall and allowing the silence to drown out Rafe’s shouting.

Sam pities the guy on the receiving end of Rafe’s wrath, for lack of a better word.

Although, perhaps bitching would suffice.

_“You are incompetent! You are worthless! You are…”_

Yeah—definitely bitching.

Sam had seen it a miles away. He had seen it those fifteen years ago. It wasn’t as if Nathan’s or Y/N’s suspicions had gone over his head. But even back then did he think of himself as an optimist. It was only recently did he pinpoint what the consequences of his optimism could be.

So, he decided he that he would flee Scotland. He would track down Nathan, and they would find Avery’s treasure together—like they were supposed to. Really, it was a no-brainer. The choice had been made the second Rafe told him that Nathan had called quits on the treasure years ago and hadn’t heard from him personally since. But Nathan has since withheld a certain notoriety to his name. It wasn’t exactly difficult for Sam to find out what exactly his brother had accomplished in the time since he managed to escape Panama.

The other name that has rarely left Sam’s head since his ass got thrown back into that cell is Y/N’s. The only difference is that he’d never once asked about her. Hell, he doesn’t expect Rafe to know about her whereabouts or what she is up to. So Sam took it upon himself to guess—married with kids, a house, and a picket fence. Living the life he never previously associated with her, being that plucky, stubborn, equally ambitious and adventurous girl he’d known so ridiculously well for so long.

He misses her. He had spent another fifteen years missing her after the ten he spent trying to fend his down his guilt for leaving her behind in the city they had promised to escape together.

He wonders if he had memorized each aspect of her correctly. The shade of her eyes in the dim hotel light and in the moonlight. The colour of her hair, strands splayed across a pillow and moving rhythmically with the two AM spring breeze. The shape of her lips, curving into that godforsaken teasing but happy grin that always got his heart racing. The soft edge to her voice, speaking and even when singing quietly to herself. The sound of her laugh. The feeling of her smooth skin under his calloused touch…

He wonders where she could be. He wonders if she’d truly chosen to settle down into the life she’d once openly told him she couldn’t imagine herself having. If he is being honest with himself, he selfishly hopes that she hasn’t.

* * *

Y/N didn’t like rain, despite her constant protests that “It’s not that I don’t like it! It’s just that...  Sometimes it gets too loud” or “Everything becomes muddy, and…”

Sam would let out an amused laugh and take her hands in his. “Let’s face it, Y/N: you don’t like rain.”

In response, she would put on a pout, bat her lashes, and then smile knowingly.

They were lucky enough to have spent the driest day of the spring together. They had visited Nathan earlier that morning and took to the annual fair downtown mid-afternoon. When the sun had set, they climbed up to Sam’s little getaway above the steeple at St. Francis’s.

A light drizzle began ten minutes into settling down. It quickly evolved into rain, and then soon, it was downright pouring.

“Ah, shit,” Sam uttered begrudgingly, wary to peer over the ledges.

Y/N let out a low whistle beside him. “That’s a likely slip.”

“It’s a likely _death_.”

“Hmm. Oh well.”

Sam turned to her, watching as she took the seat at the centre of the steeple, crossing her legs and meeting his gaze nonchalantly.

“Don’t you gotta get back before Sister What’s-Her-Face checks up on ya?” he asked.

She shrugged. “I do. But the girls’ll cover me.”

He raised a brow and made his way over to take the seat next to her. “Yeah?”

“Mmhmm. We’ve had this whole deal worked out: if I don’t show up to dinner, it’s because I’m feeling a little under the weather. Then Sarah from across the hall sneaks up and arranges pillows on my bunk to look like me, and then… I’m good. Hopefully, at least,” she explained.

Sam raised his brows, impressed. “Huh. Now I wish I had floormates like yours when I was back in this place.” He cocked his head toward the orphanage’s main hall.

Y/N arched a brow, a grin tugging at the corner of her lips. “Girls, you mean?”

“Well, yeah.”

Her jaw dropped, grin still evident, and swatted his arm playfully. He laughed, pulling her into his arms and burying his laughter into her hair. He felt as the tension in her body dissipated and she settled comfortably in his grip. It took a few seconds. It always did. Hell, even he was still getting used to...whatever was going on between them.

He’d been the one to initiate that kiss in her room a week ago, but she certainly didn’t stop him. She hadn’t stopped him from taking her hand in his or pulling her into an embrace like he just had.

Sam didn’t know that he would end up like this when he met Y/N. Sure, he thought she was pretty. He liked her laugh. He liked the way she spoke about her passions, and how her eyes lit up in interest when he spoke about his. He wasn’t sure how he felt about the fact that she was nearly _always on his mind._

She was his best friend. There was no way she had ever thought of him _that_ way.

But then, recently, she reciprocated his little gestures of affection. She squeezed his hand back. She leaned into his embrace. He’d even caught her stare lingering once or twice.

Now, he felt as her hands clasped around his forearm, keeping his arms in place around her. She turned her head, smiling up at him. He was painfully worried she’d _hear_ the thudding of his heartbeat.

“What?” he questioned, the corner of his lips turning upward.

“Nothing. Just…” She slipped her hand into his, turning back toward the practical waterfall in front of them. “I think I’m starting to like the rain.”

He watched as she fell seemingly intent on the rain. Yet he was certain in the chances that she was thinking about something else. He smiled and gave her hand a squeeze, living in the moment, silently hoping that it would last.

* * *

Learning that his little brother had settled down into domesticity in New Orleans surprises the hell out of Sam. He had just shuffled through tale after tale of Nathan, and discovering that he has been out of the game for years now… Well, if he is honest with himself, Sam doesn’t know that he has expected anything close to the ordinary life from Nathan since getting out of prison.

Y/N, on the other hand, is a different story. She has come to make a name out of herself not only in the treasure-hunting industry, but also in her grifting roots. She has held up stories of her own and, in turn, has held up to her knack for surprising him.

 _That’s my girl,_ Sam fondly thinks. _His_ girl. _His_ Y/N—the one with the wind in her hair and an inkling for something more. But she’s grown since then. She’s likely changed much more than he has. In the last fifteen years, Sam has been holding countless questions about possibilities. If Y/N has really made it this far in such an abrupt, volatile lifestyle, has she settled down just as Nathan has? Are there a husband, kids, and a white picket fence in line with the choices she has made?

He has to know—even if the truth crushes him. But in spite of that fact, he sets his mind to the first step to take as a free man since leaving prison: Nathan.

Sam arrives in New Orleans with little to bear except to follow the tip he’d received from his contact that would lead him to Nathan’s workplace. It’s a quaint space by the boardwalk, undoubtedly closed considering how early in the morning it is. Upon closer inspection, Sam spots the dim haze of light through the blinds of a window. He saunters inside, noting the shut and perhaps locked door at the other end of the room.

He swallows as he approaches the door, his heartbeat speeding. Never in his life has seeing his brother strung up this much anticipation. He knocks.

“We’re not opened yet!” a muffled voice calls from the other side.

The sound of Nathan’s voice propels Sam to knock again.

“We’re closed!”

Sam furrows his brows, a small chuckle falling from his lips. He knocks once more.

“Oh, come on, man… All right—I’m coming, I’m coming!”

Sam hears the footsteps, the shifting. He turns his back to the door then, averting to shuffle through blueprints and such on the desk in front of him. At this point, his heart is beating wildly in his ribcage when he hears the door pull open.

“Yeah? Can I help you?”

“Yeah, I’m, uh, looking for my little brother,” he says, turning over his shoulder.

Nathan has definitely aged, but the awe and surprise in his eyes make it seem like Sam is looking at that same kid from St. Francis’s again.

“He’s about your height, a little leaner.” He takes a few steps forward. “Definitely less grey in the temples.”

“...Sam?”

* * *

“You’re serious, aren’t you?” The disbelief and the hint of awe in his little brother’s voice were almost encouraging. Nathan’s eyes on Sam settled into question, and Sam could only step forward.

Their current case wasn’t a “yes or no” ordeal. Stay, and they would be knee-deep in the trouble practically predicted out of them. When Sam had been given that job offer, he was far from accepting the fact that he’d be leaving Nathan behind, but it was the best thing for him. Now, Sam realized, it was only for that time being. Now, there was a bigger picture at hand, and he knew neither of them had much of a preferable decision.

“Nathan, we were meant for this,” Sam gently pressed on. “And I promise—you and me together? We’re gonna go far.” Nathan turned to face him, clearly intent. The corner of Sam’s lip turned upward. “So what do ya say,” he began, offering out a hand, “Nathan Drake?”

Nathan’s gaze fell from Sam’s hand and then back up to hold his stare. There was no doubt, no hesitance on Nathan’s face. He knew what the consequences would be if he’d thought Sam was being downright mad. He was a smart kid, and it still stunned Sam how smart he really was.

Nathan took Sam’s hand in a firm shake, the forming smile on his lips mirroring Sam’s own. They made their way back onto the bike, both letting out small bits of laughter. This was going to be big. This was it.

“So, where to first?” Nathan asked from behind Sam.

Right. First bout was always the most crucial. Sam immediately thought to forge their papers now before they’d go out any further. When he moved to start the engine, one name formed in his mind, triggering the pause in his movements and to suddenly question his current motif.

Nathan had already noticed his hesitance. “Sam,” he called, nudging him.

Sam turned over his shoulder. “Yeah, I just gotta…” _Gotta what?_ He faltered, any attempt to conceal it disappearing.

There was no point to it, after all. Sam knew Nathan loved Y/N just as much as he did. Nathan understood better than anyone else did. And sometimes it hit him pretty hard—knowing that his little brother had grown far from that wide-eyed boy, asking if their father would return for them soon. He could notice everything now.

“It’s Y/N, isn’t it?” Nathan questioned, the tone of his voice only slightly above a whisper, as if Y/N was a sort of secret between them.

Sam sucked in a breath, exhaling slowly. “Yeah.”

The younger of the two was quiet for a second, obviously in thought. Then he nudged Sam again. “Hey, why not bring her with us?”

A bittersweet, dry laugh left Sam’s mouth. “Now, there’s a thought.” And it was. It was a temptation, even, but knowing the length of that decision, Sam sighed and shook his head. “I dunno, Nathan. That’s… That’s a pretty big thing to ask of her.”

“Sam, she’s only got us,” Nathan pointed out.

_She’s only got you._

“That’s not the point.”

“Why are you fighting this?” Nathan stubbornly pushed on. “You care about Y/N. You clearly _like_ her. Hell, you guys are sorta _together_ , and-”

“Nathan.” Sam’s tone turned to warning, but it was far from that. He didn’t _want_ to fight it, perhaps even more so than he wanted Y/N not be his only setback. In his mind, she never was. They exchanged their hopes and dreams; hers were hardly any different from his. But Sam was scared. Not for himself, not for her, but for Nathan.

Judging by his settling into another brief silence, he probably understood that. “Well, we can’t just leave her without a goodbye,” Nathan eventually said. “It’s not fair to her.”

Sam huffed and flipped on the engine. “I wasn’t gonna leave her without a goodbye,” he said, mostly to himself.

He swerved back in the other direction, wary of the cops likely circling the area but adamant on getting to Y/N—getting to see her once more before God knows how long.

They’d left the bike parked in a closed space. Nathan had followed Sam closely behind, up the fire escape and the neighbouring rooftops. Most, if not all, lights in each room of St. Lucy’s were visibly off. Upon peering inside Y/N’s room, hers were off, too. She was inevitably fast asleep. Nathan was visibly disappointed. Sam had swallowed, but continued onward.

He knew how often she forgot to latch her window—he’d teasingly scolded her on it many times. He pulled the window open easily, but carefully upon taking notice of her sleeping figure on the bottom bunk. She lay on her side, a quilt pulled up to just under her shoulders. Peaceful.

He suddenly thought about waking her, about asking her to tag along for the ride. But his instincts screamed no. Why did it seem like the wrong decision?

He tore his stare away from her and looked around the room, admiring the many piles of books in practically all corners of her room. Some of them he’d recommended to her, some of them titles he recognized that she’d recommended to him.

He reached out and grabbed for her copy of _Romeo & Juliet_ sitting on top of her small Shakespeare pile, flipping through the worn pages before settling on a blank page near the back. He picked up one of the pens on her bedside table and wrote her a note.

* * *

Hearing the crazy ass stories from Nathan himself somehow makes them all the more endearing for Sam. Still, it does not subside the jealousy he can’t help but maintain. Perhaps, in part, it owed all to the fact that the glory he had hoped the name Drake would obtain came from _their_ successes—not Nathan’s alone. Perhaps it’s because Sam wasn’t there each step of the way as he’d promised.

Instead, there was Sullivan and Elena. Sullivan and Elena, two people Sam hardly knows but is admittedly grateful for to have kept Nathan’s head straight. But, rather unsurprisingly, there had also been Y/N, who Nathan says “helped get me back up on my feet” after Sam’s supposed death.

Hearing about Y/N coming from Nathan makes Sam realize how much he had needed to hear it. If not him, it is definitely Nathan who knows where she’s been, and how she’s been doing.

Sam still remains careful with his questions. “You hear from her recently, though?” he asks from beside him. Sunlight shines from the plane’s window. He feigns interest on the light reflecting off the metal of his armrest.

He feels Nathan’s gaze on him. Amused, likely. “Nope,” Nathan answers with a breath. “Ever since Elena and I settled down, I, uh… Well, we kept in touch. But, you know, you can never really hold yourself to that.” He pauses. “She’s been doing all right, though, as far as I know.”

It almost sounds like a reassurance of a sort—the kind that suddenly makes Sam sheepish. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Odd jobs, grifting,” Nathan says. “Pretty sure she and Sully have handled cases together, too.”

“Huh.” Even in spite of Nathan’s obvious trust in the older man, never has the idea of a partnership between Y/N and Sullivan crossed in Sam’s mind. He sucks in a breath, leaning back in his seat. “A lot _can_ happen in fifteen years.”

“I’ll have you know that Y/N got along with Sully a lot better than you ever did,” his brother says.

Sam chuckles. “That by a landslide, I’m guessing?” He expects another retort, and Nathan does crack his mouth open, but he quickly interrupts him. “Look—it’s not about Sullivan. It’s…”

A silence follows, but Nathan hasn’t seemed to have lost his knack for picking up where Sam left off. “Y/N,” Nathan finishes for him. “You’re surprised?”

“Well, yeah.” Sam looks at him now. “I mean, I never knew she would’ve wanted anything domestic to begin with. But after hearin’ that you settled down? Guess I just figured that was her stop, too.”

Nathan’s eyes narrow at the corners and slowly does his mouth pull into a smile.

Sam quirks a brow. “What?”

His brother lets out a chuckle. “Nothing, nothing. You’re just…” He catches himself, sighing. “You’re still as oblivious as I remember.”

* * *

Travelling to France would have only been a fantasy to Sam ten years ago. It was the kind of fantasy that would keep himself pushing onward at his job at the docks, albeit denial of the fact that maybe one day his fantasy would become reality.

Maybe it would’ve happened sooner if his mother hadn’t died and his asshole of a father didn’t run out on him and Nathan. Maybe he wouldn’t have grown up to be the man he was—trudging around hunting for dead people’s belongings for the big bucks. Not to mention the numerous jail stints and the notoriety all of which they had both garnered in a matter of ten years.

Ten years was plenty of time. But everyday was spent practically treading on a life sentence, wary of where to step and the very likely bullet to the head.

Quite frankly, it was sort of addictive.

Of course, they’d took a detour back to Boston a year ago. It was unplanned and long overdue, but the burden Sam had carried for years had nearly yanked him to a breaking point. He was practiced in hiding it, of course, but Nathan grew to notice nearly everything. It was sort of frightening.

The venture back to the city of their upbringing and abandonment was considerably nerve-wracking for a reason Sam fathomed the same as his purpose for returning. He and Nathan had asked around, made a few calls, but Y/N was nowhere in the city. They learned something for sure, however: that she had departed not too long after they did.

“Y/N, you are insane,” Sam had fondly mumbled after learning of her departure.

In the year since then, he had pondered her whereabouts. He warmed up to the thought that perhaps she was always as insane as he was.

Despite his doubts becoming more and more plausible, despite the memories he held close of her wishing for adventure, he never thought for a second that she would be standing in the same French banquet hall as he was. Time stopped in that moment. Whatever treasure he and Nathan were after was forgotten. Hell, he’d ignored everyone else in the room.

She’d matured, definitely, from that sixteen-year-old girl he’d left behind. Her eyes skimmed past his before she did a double take and _really_ looked at him. He saw as the familiarity dawned on her; he wondered if she could suspect that his heart had skipped a beat. She always was the best at reading him.

He counted the steps he took toward her. He had made it halfway when she’d moved as well—all in a daze, all as if they were those two kids who’d found each other. She said nothing as she reached up for him. Instead, she pulled him into an embrace, and he smiled into her shoulder.

If he had known it would all go to shit, perhaps he wouldn’t have asked her weeks after their reunion for the reason behind her stay in France. Maybe then, he’d have the opportunity to savour more than a few weeks of her to his memory.

* * *

The memory takes an earth-shattering toll on him when she enters the room of the Rossi Estate. The urgency in her step and in her voice falters greatly. “Sully, we might have a little prob-”

Her eyes immediately meet his. And he feels that thing he had felt fifteen years ago, meeting her at an unlikely place at an equally unlikely time. He suddenly feels like that eighteen-year-old kid again—when she took his hand in hers for the time. It is far too recognizable, the warmth in his chest, his frantic heartbeat… All simply at the sight of her.

For a moment, he is unsure why he is so stunned that she still has the capability to take his breath away. She is dressed in a simple evening gown, hair done neatly. Her eyes are wide, a crease between her brows, her mouth open agape. At loss for words until she finds one; the one that has always been his favourite to hear from her.

_“Sam.”_

Time stops. She takes a few strides toward him, and she’s tugging him down into her arms. She is all he can focus on—the smoothness of her skin, the floral, sweet scent of her hair. The electricity her touch sends throughout his body. He risks a glance at his brother, looking all-too smug standing at Sullivan’s side.

Y/N breaks from their embrace then, tears in her eyes, a disbelieving laugh escaping her lips. He can’t fend off a smile. Her stare is wide, her lips are cracked open, and she’s _here_.

The moment only lasts so long, because suddenly he recalls the job at hand. Suddenly, so does she. She returns to what she’d tried to explain to Sullivan before she caught Sam’s eye. The change of the lot order, the plan they’d have to conjure up.Y/N chose to stay with Sullivan in the ballroom, prepared for any sort of diversion needed to buy Sam and Nathan the time they needed. He recalls everything that has driven him here, and suddenly his mind is critically wandering. As if his body is doing all the work for itself at Nathan’s side.

“So,” Sam says while he and Nathan search in the wine cellar for any plausible exit. “Was it part of the plan that Y/N would be tagging along for the ride?”

Nathan sucks in a breath. “I know it wasn’t exactly what we had agreed on.”

Sam lets out a sharp breath and turns to look at his brother. “I just didn’t realize word got out to her about this whole affair of me being alive.”

The younger Drake doesn’t appear the least guilty as he shouldn’t be. Sam’s concerns are mainly of his own—he knows full well that Y/N is capable of handling herself. “Look,” Nathan says, “she and Sully were working a deal in Portugal when I called. I don’t think Sully dropping everything in the middle of the case just for me wouldn’t have raised her suspicions.”

“Well, it was a shock. That’s all,” Sam says, turning back to look for a way out.

Nathan laughs from behind him. “You show up alive at my door after fifteen years of me thinking you were dead, and expect me _not_ to do something dramatically shocking in return?”

“I maybe thought that part of ya woulda changed somehow,” Sam says with a grin. “You know—considering you chose the ‘white picket fence life’ and all.”

Nathan chuckles again. “That is a strict part of my DNA, brother,” he jests. He then pauses, sighing. “And you know how stubborn Y/N can be. That hasn’t changed either.”

Sam looks down briefly. Had he thought about the consequences behind his actions? Of course. Had he even considered the possibility that Y/N would be here now, doubling the potential falling out if the truth is ever revealed? Hell no. Like Nathan said, her stubbornness hasn’t changed. Sam believes every other admirable trait about her hasn’t either. He has no doubt she is still the one who can see right past the piles of lies.

It is selfish of him to keep his head up.

He knocks on her hotel door later, when the four of them are all struck with fatigue but pleased with the success of their heist. She answers it with a smile and a “Hey,” still clad in her dress and her hair let loose around her shoulders. Perhaps he lets his eyes wander again, because she laughs and gestures him inside.

He complies somewhat awkwardly, shutting the door behind him and rubbing a hand across his neck. “I gotta say, you held your own pretty well out there,” he states nearly mindlessly.

Her smile fades to a point—almost teasingly in a smirk. “Sam, I’ve been in this business pretty much just as long as you have.”

Right. Her skills are up to par. She can do whatever he can. She could kick his ass if she wanted to, and for that he isn’t much taken aback than he is ecstatic. He laughs. “I meant to say that I’m impressed,” he clarifies. “I mean, you’ve always had a knack for impressing me.”

Her face softens at that, and he swears he nearly catches sight of redness in her cheeks. She turns her back to him, reaching up to rid of her jewelry.

“I could say the same for you,” she states. “Coming back from the dead? That’s a pretty impressive feat.”

He laughs again. “Haven’t I always impressed you, too?” he teases.

“You’ve always _irritated_ me,” she clarifies, the smile obvious in her tone. Then she turns, placing her jewelry on the table next to her window. When she meets his stare again, there are tears in her eyes; the ones unshed from earlier. “Even when I thought you were gone, I…” She chuckles, humourless. “I was so damn _irritated_ that I couldn’t stop missing you.”

A tug in his chest. A tug that maneuvers him to her, instantly pulling her into his arms. She doesn’t hesitate to hold him back, as if she needs the reassurance that he is there—because that’s what he feels. He holds onto her, afraid that if he doesn’t, she would be far beyond his reach again.

He shuts his eyes, fighting the memories of missing her and the possibility of losing her if the truth behind their whole Avery expedition came out.

“I missed you too, you know,” he murmurs into her hair. “Like hell.”

She smiles into his skin. “As you should’ve. It’s only fair.”

He smiles back. They melt into a comfortable silence for a bit, holding each other, until her soft sobs have stopped and pulls back to look at him quite pointedly. “I deserve an explanation, though,” she says.

He sucks in a large breath, his arms loosening around her waist. “It’s only fair,” he says for her.

“Right you are.”

So they sit across from each other on her queen-sized bed, and he deduces every bit of information to her. He is wary, of course, that he might stumble over his words and spoil everything that has led up to this moment.

He swallows mid-way, hateful of his own ignorance, and hopes that Y/N doesn’t catch it. Her eyes narrow. He suspects that she has, but she dismisses it without words.

_God, how she would hate him if ever—_

She grabs his hand in hers, startling him. Her thumb rubs over his knuckles and she smiles at him. For a moment, he wonders if she is unsure of what to say. But then her mouth curves up more at the corner, and she inquires, “Can I just say I told you so?”

He raises a brow. “What?”

“About Rafe,” she says. “‘Cause I told you so.”

He playfully rolls his eyes. He is reminded of their conversations like this. When they were kids, sitting atop city rooftops, gazing up at the stars and wondering where they would go from there.

A thought occurs to Sam suddenly. “Hey, you’re not…” He pauses for a second. “You’re not seeing anyone, are ya?”

She gives him a look. She lets out a laugh then; a sound like music to his hears in spite of the tears staining her cheeks. God, who’d have thunk that he’d be a damn fool for her this quickly again? “I—no, I’m not,” she says. The amusement in her voice disappears. “To be honest with you, I don’t think I wanted to see anyone else.”

The relief settles in at an alarming rate. He inwardly calms, but he doesn’t put any effort into concealing it. “Oh.”

Her smirk grows further, and he holds her gaze—demure, yet twinkling of that mischief he’d been so familiar with. She clears her throat. “Besides, I’ve grown into the mindset that there’s no place for that kind of thing in this business.”

He wearily leans in closer. “Is that right?”

She bites down on her lip. “‘Fraid so.” She clears her throat again. “Though, I could be wrong. There may be a few exceptions.”

“Yeah? For what?”

Her voice lowers. “For maybe people with a long, long—” she says the second “long” with a bittersweet laugh “—history down the line and more years of _waiting_ than anyone could imagine.”

Sam smirks. “That sounds tragic.”

Her smile reaches up to her eyes and she shrugs a little. “I wouldn’t know about that,” she responds. “I find it romantic.”

“Then you got a funny idea of romantic,” he retorts.

Her movement is quick; taking his stubbled cheeks in her hands and pulling her mouth to hers. He certainly hadn’t expected it. He had hoped, for sure, but her eagerness and certainty wasn’t questionable. At least, not until now. He responds, however, just as eager and just as certain. It’s a messy kiss, filled with desperation and tongue and teeth.

He makes no mention to her to slow down, because he doesn’t want her to. He has waited long enough. They both have. And he is determined to allow it to last.

God knows he might just end up losing her again.


End file.
